


underneath your skin

by drunkonwriting



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bucky has a lot of Feelings and he has no idea what to do with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23397862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkonwriting/pseuds/drunkonwriting
Summary: “Huh. Well, he made me wait for like an hour listening to his sweet talk and the first thing he tells me when he gets off the phone is I really need to find someone who likes tall, murderous, and handsome so they can screw the grump out of me.”Steve didn’t cough fast enough to cover his laugh. Bucky glared at him until he schooled his face into something more neutral.“Well,” he said, obviously trying to be diplomatic. “That’s not exactly… uh, tactful, but it’s hardly—”“Then he told me to strip. And put some effort into it or he wouldn’t give me a good tip.”in which bucky barnes cannot tell the difference between annoyance and unresolved sexual tension.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 279





	underneath your skin

**Author's Note:**

> roughly three million years ago, i was going to take part in a monthly prompt challenge. that, shockingly enough, did not happen, but i did sketch up a fic for the day one prompt which i took a look over today & decided could actually be finished easily enough. the prompt was annoyance.
> 
> set in a post-catws world where bucky didn't kill the starks and joins the avengers. time is nebulous outside of that.

The thing was, Bucky had never had a personal problem he couldn’t fix by throwing a pretty smile and a joke at it. He remembered—he thought he remembered—the Commandos making jokes about it, how easy it was for Bucky to make friends. Even some of the prickliest soldiers, the English who didn’t like how long America had taken to join the war or the stiffs who had had a chip on their shoulder about a no-name like Steve making it big—Bucky had been able to make peace with all of them, smooth over ruffled feathers, get them to have a good time. Bucky had thought—hadn’t he?—that he’d probably developed a gift at compromise from being the third of six children and being friends with Steve, who not only didn’t have a gift for compromise but sometimes actively pretended it didn’t exist.

Being the Winter Soldier, of course, threw those gifts out to rust. The Soldier wasn’t gifted at much but killing people, and killing people didn’t require being likable. For half a dozen decades, Bucky had solved all of his personal problems with a bullet or a knife instead of a smile. Rediscovering himself had meant rediscovering some of those old, forgotten social skills. They were a less rusty than he’d feared—even if he would never be the Bucky Barnes that could laugh easily and openly or make friends with anyone he talked with, at least he wasn't an automaton anymore. But that, of course, brought its own range of problems.

“It’s not that I don’t respect him,” Bucky said.

Steve was making something on the stove, but his body was still tilted toward Bucky and he hummed encouragingly. They’d learned, through trial and error, that Bucky had an easier time with these kinds of talks if nobody was looking directly at him. Being the center of attention still made his skin prickle uncomfortably and that went double if he was expected to talk about his _feelings_.

“So what’s the problem, then?” Steve asked when Bucky didn’t continue.

“It’s, he’s—”

Bucky huffed and wished, not for the first time, that he was comfortable enough with Natalia—Natasha, she was Natasha now—to talk to her about these things. Not because Steve couldn’t give good advice or understand him. No, it was just that sometimes Bucky felt like he’d lost the ability to fully express himself in English. He wondered sometimes if it would be easy to confess all these tongue-tying things in Russian.

“It’s not about his skill. He’s no joke on the field and he’s saved my ass—hell, all of our asses—more than once.”

“So…?”

“He’s so _annoying_.”

Bucky could feel his ears heating up as Steve’s cheek crinkled with a smile. He’d said it all in a rush just to get it out before he lost the words entirely, but the quickness made it sound like a kid’s complaint, petty and small.

“That’s your problem?” Steve was definitely trying not to laugh, the little shit. “You called this emergency meeting just because you think Tony’s annoying?”

Annoying, Bucky thought, was not the right word. Consternating, maybe. Frustrating. Enraging, sometimes. Bucky didn’t know what the nebulous emotion was that Tony Stark always seemed to provoke in him, but he didn’t like it at all.

“Buck—” Steve started to turn to face him, then remembered the rules and stopped. He was still smiling. “You wouldn’t be the first person to think Tony’s annoying. Probably not even the hundredth. Pretty sure he’s proud of how much he annoys people. I think he’s made a game out of it or something, with a point system and everything.”

“It’s not—” Bucky huffed. “It’s not just that he irritates me, Steve. I know he likes to be obnoxious. It’s not that.”

“What is it, then? Is it all those brainwashing jokes he makes? Because I’ve told him they’re tasteless, but he’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to poking at stuff like that. You should have heard the number of cold jokes he used to make aboutme when we first met—”

“No, no, it’s not that. Those are—well.” Bucky considered. “Not _fine_ , I guess, but if I can handle Hawkeye’s jokes, I can handle Tony's. And the jokes are better than tiptoeing around me, you know.”

Steve didn’t agree out loud, but Bucky knew he felt the same. They both didn’t care to be handled with kid gloves and if there was one thing to say for the loose cannons on their team, they’d never once considered treating Steve or Bucky differently for their traumatic history.

“Well? What is it, then?”

Bucky sat for a long moment, thinking. Steve let him do it in silence, familiar now with the way Bucky needed to think about the things he said before he said them. If Tony was in the room, he would have already leaped in with three ideas of what Bucky was going to say—and at least one of them probably would have been right.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said at last. “I just—Even Natasha, she’s fine. Sam’s pokes fun, but we’re friends and it’s the same with Clint. Banner’s basically my personal doctor. Thor’s a good time. Hell, even Hulk and I play that game where he throws me at the enemy for fun.”

“Yeah, about that—”

Bucky ignored that. “But with Tony, it’s like the instant he steps into the room, my skin starts to itch or something. When he's watching me, it's like I forget how to walk or act. He says the most innocent thing and all I want to do is to argue with him, or he’ll give me one of those damn looks of his and I’ll just want to—God, I don’t even know. Smack him, maybe.”

Steve’s smile was gone, but he didn’t seem upset. He listened carefully as Bucky spoke, still mindlessly stirring whatever was in the pot. A stew, Bucky suspected. Steve wasn’t as bad at cooking as Monty had been—had he been, or had Bucky imagined that bush fire Monty had set off one night when they were in France?—but his culinary talents mostly laid with anything that required a long and patient cooking time. Stew, soups, bread.

“Well,” Steve said at last. “You’re not the first person to want to smack Tony either.”

“I _know_ that. The way Miss Potts talks to him, I’m kind of surprised they ever dated.”

“Then I’m stumped, Buck. You wouldn’t actually hurt him, right?”

Bucky recoiled. “What? No, of course not!!”

“So what’s the _problem_ , Bucky? You don’t have to like everyone.”

Bucky was silent for so long that Steve broke the rules and looked at him. Bucky had no idea what his face was doing, but it couldn't have been good—Steve took one look at him and his brow crinkled. He set aside his spoon and crossed the kitchen to take the stool next to Bucky’s.

“You’re really twisted up about this?”

“I used to be able to get along with anyone,” Bucky said. Steve stilled. They didn’t usually acknowledge out loud how much Bucky had changed since the old days. “Even—you remembered that Howe kid? Monty basically banned him from talking, Howard used to roll his eyes the minute he came in the room, and even you—”

“Well.” Steve coughed. “He just talked so _much_ , Bucky.”

Bucky shrugged. “Never bothered me. Same with Howards, that English airman who hated all the American recruits. He used to drink with me, called me the only Yankee he could stand. Jefferson was the same way—we’d play poker together even though he refused to even talk to the rest of you.”

“Okay. So you made friends with a bunch of fellas that didn’t care much for anyone else. And?”

“It’s just… the only people I’ve ever hated were the Nazis and my dad. They’re pretty much the only people who ever hated me too. I don’t know why I have this _problem_ with Stark. Not like he’s doing anything that I haven’t dealt with before just fine. There’s no _reason_ for it and it’s—”

Bucky didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He didn’t know how to tell Steve that sometimes it felt like there were pieces of him missing that he had to stop and collect as if they were scattered laundry and not his fundamental personality. And every time he did something that revealed how many holes there were in James Barnes, it was like a reminder of everything that had been taken from him.

“Okay. Tell me how it feels.”

“What?”

“When you see Tony. Talk to him. How does it feel? Be specific.”

Bucky frowned. He didn’t see the point, but Steve had a considering face on, so he cast around for an example.

“Yesterday,” he said. “He’s working on updates for my arm, so I went down to his workshop. Speaking of, why the hell doesn’t he wear protective gear, anyway?”

Steve blinked. “I—don’t know?”

“Just a damn tank-top,” Bucky said. “Not even _shoes_ , Steve. I’m no fancy engineer, but aren’t there some kind of rules about lab safety?”

“Bucky, _what_ —”

“Anyway.” Bucky ignored Steve’s raising eyebrows. “I went down to the lab. And he was in the middle of a project for Rhodes, so he made me wait around like an idiot while he talked sweet nothings to his boy.”

Steve choked. “Rhodes isn’t his _boy_ , Bucky.”

Bucky gave him a sidelong, disbelieving look. “He called him about six dozen pet names, Stevie. I think cookie crisp was the most innocent. He ended the call by telling Rhodes to put the phone to his ass so Stark could say goodbye to his favorite body part.”

“Well, that’s just…” Steve was red-faced. “That’s just how they talk, that’s all. Or how Tony talks to Rhodes, anyway. But Rhodes is with that air force captain, you know.”

“You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Huh. Well, he made me wait for like an hour listening to his sweet talk and the first thing he tells me when he gets off the phone is I really need to find someone who likes tall, murderous, and handsome so they can screw the grump out of me.”

Steve didn’t cough fast enough to cover his laugh. Bucky glared at him until he schooled his face into something more neutral.

“Well,” he said, obviously trying to be diplomatic. “That’s not exactly… uh, tactful, but it’s hardly—”

“Then he told me to strip. And put some effort into it or he wouldn’t give me a good tip.”

“Okay, so that’s—”

“Steve.” Steve shut up. “I told you, I know he’s obnoxious. But I’ve worked with plenty of obnoxious people who’ve said way worse things to me, and none of them annoyed me this much. I can’t figure out why Stark’s different.”

Steve considered him. “How about when he was working on your arm? How’d you feel then?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know what—”

“Just tell me.”

“Well. He’s good at what he does. Barely needs to ask me any questions about it anymore, even though he’s only been working on it for a few weeks. That doesn’t stop him from talking. Told me all about the new armor he’s working on and the gala he has to go to next month and the project he’s doing for Rhodes. One of his bots is getting an update, so he told me about that too. And about Miss Potts’s favorite artists and the training he’s doing with Natasha at the ring and that new show everyone’s so obsessed with—”

“Tony does like to talk,” Steve said, smiling.

“And you know, with Howe I never minded. He talked at least as much as Stark, maybe even more. But with Tony, I just want to—”

Bucky stopped. Steve looked at him, eyebrows going up.

“Want to... what?”

Hold him down, Bucky thought. The talking was a subset of the other thing that annoyed him about Tony—he couldn’t stop fidgeting, ever. Even while he was working on Bucky’s arm, his knee had bounced and his shoulders had moved and whenever he had a free hand, it tapped against the chair Bucky was sitting in at a consistent rhythm. Stark was so full of restless energy that sometimes Bucky just wanted to _pin_ him, like a cat watching a mouse scurry to and fro.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.

Steve had that considering look on again. “You know," he said slowly. "I think I remember someone annoying you like that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You remember Jenny Holtz?”

Bucky cast about. His memories of the time before being the Winter Soldier were all blurry at the edges, tinged with doubt. The war was the clearest—so much of his childhood was simply gone, as if it had never existed. Anything that remained was indistinct.

“No. Who’s she?”

“Girl we went to high school with. Really nice, except she wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

Bucky stiffened. “What?”

“You had a crush on her like nothing I’d ever seen. Used to try to talk to her all the time, ask her to dinner or the movies, but she didn’t like how often you dated around, so she always said no. I remember you’d disappear during lunch and come find me and complain about how stubborn she was being and how annoying it was that you couldn’t sweet-talk your way into a date. She drove you up the wall.”

Bucky stared. Steve seemed utterly serious, but he couldn’t be. That was—It was—

“Completely different,” Bucky said. “This isn’t—I don’t _like_ Tony. That’s the _whole problem_.”

“Bucky.” Steve was exasperated now. “You’re right, you always get along with people. Or you used to, anyway. And you keep telling me, there’s nothing about Tony that _should_ rub you wrong. So the way I see it, the only thing that could be causing some ants in your pants is that you like him.”

“It doesn’t—that’s not how liking someone feels.”

“It can if you don’t think they like you back.” Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve only ever really liked Peggy.”

“Well, you never thought she was annoying, did you?”

“No. But I sometimes felt—I don’t know. Restless, kind of. Full of energy when she was in the room. Like I was hyperaware.”

Bucky stiffened. That wasn’t _precisely_ right, but it wasn’t precisely wrong either. Being in the same room as Stark always heightened Bucky’s awareness. He’d thought it was because Stark was kind of obnoxious and liked to draw all the attention toward himself.

"Well,” Steve said as Bucky stayed quiet. “Let’s do a quick test, okay?”

“Tony's made you into such a _scientist_.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “You don’t become Tony’s friend without learning some basic scientific principles. Just go with me, okay? Just answer, don’t worry about what the answer is. Okay?”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Question one: do you ever find yourself watching parts of his body for no real reason?”

Bucky’s face heated. He was going to say no, but then he remembered yesterday when he’d turned his head just so he could watch the quick, graceful movements of Tony's fingers as he pried apart a delicate part of Bucky’s arm. The way he’d been caught, more than once, the length of Tony's eyelashes, the elegant shape of his wrists, the stubborn jut of his chin. Fuck.

“Yes,” Bucky said.

“Question two: do you feel like you lose something when he isn’t around?”

Did rooms feel smaller and darker when Tony left them? Did Bucky feel less alive and himself when he was away from Tony? He’d felt relief, more than once, at Tony's absence because it meant that Bucky was no longer prickling with awareness, but he’d also felt lethargic and cold, too.

“Yes,” he said.

Steve was chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Question three: when you want to shut him up, is it ever in a…” His face went red. “Sexual way?”

Bucky shot to his feet. “Test over, I think,” he said and marched out of the room before Steve could think to stop him.

* * *

He went to the workshop. Tony was almost always there unless there was some official business or something for his company. As he went down, the elevator stopped. Bucky tensed.

“Sergent Barnes, if I may have a moment?”

Bucky didn’t like that he never had a line of sight when JARVIS spoke; it made it that much spookier. But in the months he’d been living in the Tower, he’d gotten mostly used to it.

“Seems like you have it whether I like it or not,” Bucky said.

“I apologize for the theatrics. It seems like you are about to have a conversation with Sir, and I wanted to speak with you before that could happen.”

Bucky wasn’t stupid. “You were listening in on that whole conversation, huh?”

“Unless privacy protocols are enacted, I am in constant surveillance of common areas,” JARVIS said without any hint of apology. “Normally, I would never think to speak on the conversations I witness, but in this one instance, it may interfere with my primary protocol.”

“And what’s that?”

“The health and well-being of Sir.”

“ _The health and well-being_ —JARVIS, I’m not going to hurt him. I know I said I sometimes want to smack him, but I’d never actually—”

“Not his physical well-being, Sergent. Despite your somewhat… colorful history, I do not think you pose any violent tendencies toward anyone in this building. It is Sir’s emotional well-being I am concerned about.”

“His _emotional_ well-being?”

Bucky didn’t think most computers had feelings, but he was pretty sure JARVIS sounded a touch frostier when he said, “Your romantic interest in Sir.”

Bucky knew he was blushing again. God, sometimes he wished he could just revert to being the Winter Soldier if only to spare himself all of this fucking embarrassment.

“I don’t think—”

“Sergent, I know Sir has a long and not entirely auspicious romantic past, but he is not someone whose affections are easily swayed. If your interest in him is purely physical or not entirely serious, I am perfectly happy to send this elevator back to the common areas.”

Bucky looked helplessly at the ceiling of the elevator. Tony had told all of them more than once that JARVIS didn’t live in the ceiling, but it was difficult to control the impulse to look _somewhere_ when speaking to him.

“That’s not why I’m going down to talk to him,” Bucky said.

“Is it not? I was under the impression from your conversation with Captain Rogers—”

“No. _No_. Stevie’s—I don’t know. Delusional or something. I don’t like Tony.”

A long pause. “Is that so?”

JARVIS sounded much frostier than he had before. Just a robot, Bucky’s ass. JARVIS had more personality than most people Bucky knew. Bucky sighed and leaned against the elevator wall.

“It's not that he's not likable. He’s a good guy,” he offered. “A genius, good-looking.” He thought for a long moment, then offered in a quieter voice, “Kind. More than he lets people see.”

“I am aware.”

“He’s just not the kind of guy who would look at me twice, JARVIS,” Bucky said. “I’m just—Stevie’s old friend. The guy who needs all the arm repairs. He wouldn’t look at me like that.”

“You truly believe that, Sergent?” JARVIS sounded much warmer now. Bucky was thankful—the last thing he needed was to get on the bad side of the guy who ran the whole building. “Sir has many faults. You seem particularly aware of those.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. I mean, I used to kill people.” Bucky shook his head. “I’m not looking to start anything with Tony. I know… I know I wouldn’t be any good for him. Besides, I don’t even—” He made a frustrated sound. “I don’t even know if I _do_ like him. Maybe Stevie’s just twisting it all in my head.”

“If that is so, why are you going to Sir’s workshop?”

Bucky flushed. “I—”

He didn’t know, that was the thing. He’d stomped off and his first, immediate instinct had been to seek out Tony. He’d wanted to see Tony’s dark eyes and listen to him talk about everything under the sun and feel his skin prickle with the awareness of Tony’s sheer existence. He’d wanted to watch Tony’s finger tap and writhe with the need to pin it down.

Jesus Christ.

“Maybe I do like him,” Bucky said blankly, mind reeling. “A little bit.”

The elevator began going down again. The doors opened and Bucky glanced up at the ceiling.

“Do not make me regret this, Sergent,” JARVIS said. “I control your water temperature, you know.”

Bucky nodded. Infinite cold showers did not sound appealing.

He made his way down the hall and smiled as he turned the corner to see Tony working on something through the glass, head bobbing to music that wasn’t making it through the soundproofed walls. He really did need to get some protective gear, Bucky thought with amused exasperation. That couldn’t be safe at all.

He watched for a moment. Tony still didn’t know he was outside—he was elbow deep in some complicated bit of machinery, mouthing the words to the song he was listening to and utterly focused on whatever he was fixing. It didn’t stop him from tapping his free hand or shimmying his shoulders to the beat, feet tapping out an impatient rhythm against the bars of the stool he was precariously balanced on. Something in Bucky’s chest clenched and relaxed at the same time—he felt steadier and more keyed up than he had been in the kitchen. How was that even possible?

He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. He always felt a little like he needed to prepare himself when he was in Tony’s presence. He always seemed to be clumsier and more tongue-tied when Tony was around. His stomach clenched with nerves but he forced it back and held up his head. He put in the guest code to the workshop.

Music was blaring, something with a sick, heavy beat and plenty of guitars. Bucky vaguely recognized the wailing voice overlaid ontop. It softened immediately as he entered, but Tony didn’t look up or even seem to notice that he wasn’t alone anymore. He was still singing along to the song, imitating the guitar riffs and drum solos in between belting out the lyrics.

Bucky crossed the room, amusement growing. Tony was totally in a trance, he realized. He relaxed a little, allowing himself to observe Tony in his most natural state. It was a little thrilling to be able to watch him without being watched back—Tony’s full attention made Bucky ten times more uncomfortable than anyone else’s. He traced the sharp angle of Tony’s jaw, the movement of his mouth and flash of his teeth. His hair was streaked with something—oil?—and stuck up in haphazard spikes. His bare arms were streaked as well, heavy with muscle. Bucky licked his lips.

The song cut out and Tony blinked, leaning back with a sigh as he removed his hand from the piece of machinery, rotating his wrist until the bones there cracked. He was doing the same to his neck when he caught sight of Bucky and jumped a foot in the air. Bucky smirked a little.

“—Mary and _Joseph_ ,” Tony swore. “When the hell did you even get in here, ice pop?”

“Around the time you started pretending to be a guitar,” Bucky said.

Tony grinned. He was always so self-assured—he barely even looked embarrassed that Bucky had caught him doing something a little silly.

“My guitar noises are pretty good,” he said. “Years of practice after realizing that I couldn’t actually play a real one. What’d you need, polar bear? Your arm acting up again?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s—it’s good.” His neck was heating up, skin prickling. Why did Tony always have to look at him so directly? “I just. Wanted to say hi.”

Jesus God. Bucky cringed but Tony’s eyes only crinkled a little as he stared in confusion.

“Is that a thing we do now?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. His tone was purely curious. “I thought we were still in the ‘manly nods when we pass each other in the halls’ stage of our relationship.”

Bucky rubbed his arm. “Well. I… wanted to say it. So.”

He needed to leave. His stomach was contracting painfully, almost cramping with nerves, and his skin felt like it was on fire. What was he even thinking, trying to actually talk to Tony? He could barely even stand for Tony to look at him. Why had he even come down here? He turned, ready to bolt, but Tony made a protesting noise, waving frantically at him.

“Oh, hey now, you’re not getting off _that_ easily. If we’re hello friends, that means we’re ‘listen to me rant about my stupid board’ friends now, too. Sit down. Do you drink coffee? You’ve lived here for months and I’m just now realizing I have no idea if you’re a coffee drinker, my God. You’re absolutely right, this relationship needed an upgrade.”

Bucky blinked. Tony blinked back, then pointed firmly at the sagging couch shoved in the corner of the room.

“Go sit,” he said again. “You’re not getting out of hearing me complain. Rhodey put a ban on it for the next 24 hours and Pepper just hangs up on me the minute I start getting loud, so it’s your job to listen to my passionate hatred for the old fuckers on my board who I can’t get rid of.”

Bucky relaxed a little as Tony turned around, heading for the little station that had a coffee maker, a blender, and pretty much nothing else on it. He went and sat down on the couch, which was much more comfortable than it looked. His breathing evened out and his heart rate slowed down. He watched Tony make a cup of coffee, muttering to himself all the while, and realized abruptly that it had never been annoyance he’d felt toward Tony. Had he been living without emotions for so long that he’d stopped being able to recognize nervousness?

“Here, here, drink up. Now, who do you want to hear about first? Walters or Pinkerton? Walters is an old-school blowhard who thinks that raising the minimum wage makes SI look weak but Pinkerton is a slimeball who tries to hide how racist he is with all of this fake-enlightened bullshit.”

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

Oh, _Jesus_. Bucky drank the entire cup of coffee in one gulp, not realizing until after it was already searing down his throat that it was too hot to drink still. His mouth tingled as the serum healed his burned tongue and gums, but Bucky barely felt it, too overwhelmed with horror at what he had just said. What was _wrong_ with him?

Tony, who had been in the process of taking the seat next to Bucky, froze mid-motion. He turned wide, dark eyes on Bucky. Bucky grimaced.

“Perhaps I may be of some use, Sergent?”

JARVIS definitely sounded amused. Little robot bastard. Bucky waved a hand. His mouth was still healing.

“Sir, please review the following footage. I believe it will help you get up to speed on the current situation.”

Then Bucky watched with utter horror as the entire conversation he’d just had in the kitchen with Steve was played out on the holographic screen in front of them in surround sound.

“ _What_ ,” he said, looking accusingly up at the ceiling. “Why are you—”

“Sh,” Tony said, eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of them.

Bucky put his head in his hands. Coming down here had been a mistake of monumental proportions, he thought. He should’ve just gone back to his room and tried to forget the whole thing had ever happened. He could’ve just spent the rest of his life pretending that Tony didn’t exist and ignoring the odd feelings his presence always stirred up. It would’ve been fine. Bucky was the king of ignoring things.

He didn’t lift his head even as he heard Tony’s sharp inhale when Steve mentioned a _sexual way_. Bucky’s entire face felt like it was on fire. Why couldn’t he be the Winter Soldier right now? He was sure the Soldier had never blushed.

“Well,” Tony said. He sounded a little strangled. “Thank you, J. That does catch me up.”

“My pleasure, sir.” JARVIS was definitely smug. Bucky took back every nice thought he’d ever had about the AI. “Sergent Barnes, remember what I said in the elevator.”

Bucky didn’t want to look. He kept his head in his hands until he felt a gentle touch to the back of one of them. He peeked through his fingers to see Tony crouched down on the floor in front of him. The corner of his mouth was twitching. His eyes were bright, crinkled just a little at the corners. Bucky scowled and withdrew his hands.

“Stevie’s delusional,” he said stiffly. “But I’m… I’m sorry for saying that stuff about you.”

Tony actually laughed. “If I got hurt every time someone called me annoying, I’d never get anything done,” he said. “That wasn’t the interesting part of that whole conversation.”

Bucky really wanted to disappear. “Oh?”

“Come on, comrade. You know what the interesting part was.”

Tony was still smiling. His eyes were bright, intent. Bucky’s skin prickled having them on him.

“I don’t think I like you,” he said. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. His face didn’t dim at all. “And obnoxious, don’t forget that one. I make a lot of bad jokes about your trauma, too. I talk too much.”

Bucky nodded. “Being around you makes me feel—”

He paused.

Tony’s face softened. “Makes you feel, huh?” he said.

“I mean—”

“Listen, snowcone. If you want dinner, let’s get dinner.”

Bucky was pretty sure his heart actually stopped.

“What?”

“Let’s get dinner,” Tony said again, patiently. “What’s the worse that can happen? You discover you really do hate my guts after all and we go back to that manly nod relationship we had. Or you figure out exactly what it is you’re feeling and we upgrade this relationship to a whole new, more interesting, level. The kind with _sexual shutting up_ involved.”

Bucky couldn’t stop staring, but it didn’t look like Tony was joking. He was smiling, but it was the one he used around the Avengers, not the press—the real one, the kind that invited everyone in on the joke he was telling instead of making them the laughingstock. But he _had_ to be joking, right? Tony didn’t want… he _couldn’t_ want…

“That’s what _you_ want?” Bucky blurted out. Tony’s brow crinkled and Bucky forced himself to keep talking. “The… the _sexual shutting up_ relationship?”

“Oh, _that_. Buckster, I thought that was clear ages ago.”

“ _What_?”

“You didn’t pick up on all the flirting? The outrageous nicknames? The casual touches?”

“You do that with Captain Rhodes,” Bucky said, aghast. “And Steve. And Banner.”

“I do _not_ flirt with Bruce! Our love is pure and scientifically focused!"

“Tony.”

“Oh, all _right_. Look, I’ve wanted you since pretty much the moment you walked through the door, but you’ve barely been able to be in the same room as me for two minutes without looking like you want to kill me, so I figured romance was off the table. That _is_ , until I found out that you were actually looking so adorably murderous because I get you all hot and bothered. Who knew a world-class assassin would find obnoxiousness sexy?”

“I _don’t_ ,” Bucky muttered.

Tony fluttered his ridiculous eyelashes. “Now, pudding cup, don’t be like that.” He grinned. “Come on, Bucky. Come to dinner with me. We’ll get burgers and you can think of someone you want to complain about to me. I’ll get you ice cream afterward. And, if you’re really good, there might even be a _present_ at the end.”

Bucky’s face heated. “I don’t need any present,” he said. He eyed Tony. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Bucksicle.” Tony made a face. “No, that’s not any good. Creamsicle? Ice pop? Sundae supreme? I need to load up on my cold-themed nicknames if we’re going steady now.”

“Going steady?” Bucky smiled a little. “Who’s the grandpa between the two of us, huh?”

Tony made a noise of outrage and straightened up. Bucky began laughing as his knees popped and he cursed. Tony glared at him, but his mouth was twitching, too.

“I’m barely in my forties,” he said. “If that’s old, you’re a geezer.”

“Whatever you say, old man.” Bucky stood too. His stomach was still clenching a little, but he felt a lot steadier than he had before. “Burgers?”

“Yes, _please_ , I am dying from hunger. My last meal was, what, eight hundred years ago?”

“Nine hours ago, sir,” JARVIS said. “I’ve made a call to Mr. Hutcherson. He is expecting you.”

Tony groaned. “ _Yes_ , Hutch’s Burgers. Bucky, these will change your _life_. Rhodey and I found them when we were here on vacation during college and I swear to god, these burgers changed me into the man I am today. There’s this one with pickles that’s just—”

Bucky followed Tony out of the workshop as he continued to ramble on about burgers. He smiled wryly to himself as the door slid shut behind them. Tony was annoying, he admitted privately as they entered the elevator. But if Bucky was being honest, he was exactly Bucky’s type of annoying.

“They sound amazing,” he said when Tony took a breath. “Let’s go eat, then.”

Tony grinned at him and reached to take Bucky’s hand firmly in his. “About _damn_ time,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> i really just love tony never fucking wearing any protective gear at all when he works on hot metal. it's very sexy of him and i refuse to acknowledge that he might actually put on anything that might keep his dumb ass from getting burned.
> 
> 03/31/20: minor typos fixed.


End file.
